


loose affiliation with the real

by alaspooryorick



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - To All the Boys I've Loved Before Fusion, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 19:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16181720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaspooryorick/pseuds/alaspooryorick
Summary: Prompt:Whenever Tyson has a crush so strong he can't stand it he writes a letter, puts it in an envelope, and hides it away in his closet. And then one day the letters get sent. Oh, shit.(To All The Boys I've Loved Before!AU because I can't stop thinking about this movie. Feel free to deviate from the movie and tagged characters are suggestions. I just want letters, pining Tyson, and gabetyson endgame)





	loose affiliation with the real

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [rainbowysl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowysl/pseuds/rainbowysl) in the [boysarehot](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysarehot) collection. 



> this fic is entirely a work of fiction and no harm is intended to the people represented within it. if you found this by googling yourself or anyone you know, please click away.
> 
> this follows a more or less accurate timeline of the beginning of the avs 2017-18 campaign, from october to november. the title comes from matchbox twenty's 'sleeping at the wheel'
> 
> thanks to aj for the prompt, and to jp for his tireless work in betaing this thing for me

There’s no question that the Avalanche need to get better. A 48 point season isn’t something Tyson’s exactly boasting about. Half way through, Dutchy asked for a trade. The weight of first overall weighs heavy on Nate’s shoulders. Trade rumours buzz about Gabe like sand-flies, and Tyson can’t claim he’s free of those, either. Through some miracle, when training camp starts, they’re still whole, though an argument could be made that perhaps that isn’t a good thing in Dutchy’s case. Tyson – and everyone else, for that matter – knows he doesn’t want to be there anymore. Even so, they’re still whole, and they have to do better.

To their credit, they do. They start the season off flying, winning four out of their first five games, and Tyson is hopeful. Then Dallas happens.  It starts off typical enough. Tyson’s leaving the visitor’s locker room with Nate, who seems to be flipping wildly between his offseason nutrition plan and his latest Tim Horton’s commercial with Sidney Crosby as a conversation topic. Tyson’s not really listening. He’s also not really listening when Gabe stops in front of them.

“Tyson, Can I talk to you?”

Tyson looks at him expectantly. He assumes, based on the timing of it all, that Gabe wants to talk to him about the game. Gabe does not want to talk to him about the game, as becomes evident when he turns to Nate and says, pointedly, “ _Alone._ ”

Nate makes a face, and turns. “Fine. If you need me, I’ll be playing hockey. Y’know, like I’m being paid to.”

“Look, Tys,” Gabe starts, the second Nate rounds the corner. “It’s not that I’ve never thought about it. It’s just, we’re all in a weird place right now, and we are still teammates. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Landesnerd.”

“Obviously I’m flattered.” Gabe continues. “Nobody’s ever called me a stallion before.”

That’s when it clicks. Tyson’s gaze wanders down to the envelope in Gabe’s hand, and he immediately wishes the floor of the American Airlines Center would open and swallow him whole. “Not to your face.” He mutters, through the hands he has covering his face, as if he could just dematerialize from this situation.

Tyson writes love letters, sometimes, is the thing. Not for anyone to read, of course, because that would be a kind of humiliation beyond anything he’s ever been goaded to say on camera. He writes love letters for himself, but not to himself. He writes love letters when he has a crush he can’t shake with the force of his mind and passage of time. It works, for the most part. Tyson addressed and seals these letters, and locks them away in a box where nobody is ever supposed to read them, and he’s done with them. He can move on.

There’s five, in total.

The thing is, nobody’s supposed to actually know about these letters. They’re supposed to belong to Tyson alone. Except for Nate, but, well—Tyson tells Nate everything.

Evidently, someone did know about these letters. Because now they’re out. At least Gabe’s seems to be.

Tyson thinks maybe he can save this, like maybe Gabe’s the only one who got a letter, which is humiliating in itself, but he can live with that. Which, naturally, is the exact moment he sees Jamie coming towards him, envelope in his hand, so Tyson does the only thing that makes sense to him in that moment, in terms of damage control. He pushes himself up a little, wraps his arms around Gabe’s shoulders, and kisses him until he hears footsteps retreating.

Gabe is flushed when Tyson pulls back, hair messy, eyes wide. “Good talk!” Tyson says, louder than is strictly necessary, turning on his heel and leaving an extremely confused Gabe in his wake.

//

They lose in Dallas, and self-pity sends Tyson to the first Dairy Queen he finds in Nashville. He invites Nate, who starts rambling about “the right fuel”, which is always a sure-fire way to make Tyson tune him out and leave him behind, so he leaves Nate in his hotel room and goes on his own.

Which, he realizes, was his first mistake. It seems like Tyson barely has a Blizzard in front of him before Gabe’s in the chair next to him. He orders a Blizzard of his own, settling into his seat in a way that gives Tyson the impression he should probably be prepared for this to take a while.

“I’m flattered, really.” Gabe starts, and this feels distinctly familiar. “But it’s not a good idea, and we really need to focus on the team first, so—”

Tyson squints and drops his spoon into his Blizzard. “Are you trying to let me down easy? Again? Look, you don’t have to do that. I’m not trying to date you. I wrote that letter forever ago, and yes, okay, I did kiss you, but I only did that because someone else got a letter and I was trying to limit the damage done here.”

Gabe is silent for a moment, which shocks Tyson more than anything, before asking, “Jamie Benn?”

Tyson nods, stares down at his Blizzard. “Yes, fine, it’s Jamie. You’re not even the only person who got a letter, so you can chill with whatever this is, and we can never speak of this again.”

Unfortunately, because Tyson’s luck is what it is, Gabe doesn’t seem to agree.

“Did anyone else get a letter?”

Tyson eyes the exit. “What, you want a list?”

Gabe nods, because of course he does. Tyson groans internally. Then externally. He thinks very seriously about withholding this information, getting up and going back to his hotel room (or more likely, to Nate’s), and leaving Gabe in suspense for the rest of forever, then Gabe says, “Look, if you don’t tell me, I’m just going to keep thinking you’ve been secretly in love with me and pining after me for years, and you have a shrine dedicated to me in your basement.” Tyson doesn’t have a basement, but Gabe’s outlined a fate worse than death, and Tyson can’t stand the idea that he thinks that _now_ , so he acquiesces.

In Tyson’s humble opinion, it makes the most sense to start from the top. “Jamie, who you know about, obviously. Roman—”

“Josi? He’s straight.”

“No, Polak.” Tyson rolls his eyes. “Yes, Josi. _Obviously_. Are you going to let me talk, or do you not actually want to know?” He doesn’t address the straight comment because, first of all, there’s no way Gabe knows that for sure, and second of all, he wrote that letter an eternity ago and he’s obviously not into Roman anymore. That’s kind of the point of the letters, after all.

Gabe puts his spoon down and says, “So you have a Captain fetish.”

“Wow.” Tyson says, rendered speechless for the first time he can remember in recent history. “So, this conversation is over.” He makes to leave, and Gabe stops him with a warm hand on his wrist.

“No, I’m sorry, don’t leave. There’s two more, right?”

“Yeah.” Tyson says, sarcastic. “Three plus two is five. Did you work that out in your giant head?”

Gabe waits, silently, patiently, and Tyson sighs. He’s halfway through this, might as well finish. “Brayden, and Luke Schenn.”

“ _Both_ Schenns?”

“It was a busy summer. Can I go now?”

Gabe gestures his acquiescence and Tyson jumps up, abandoning what remains of his Blizzard, and, much to his chagrin, runs right into the Pred’s captain and recipient number two of the most humiliating letter Tyson has ever written.

“I think this belongs to you.” He says, and he’s holding out an envelope that looks identical to the one Tyson saw in Gabe and Jamie’s hands.

Tyson grabs it, tears it in two and jams the pieces in his pocket. “Thanks!” He says, voice verging on hysterical. He hears Gabe laughing and fights the urge to tear out of the place and bully Nate into a Golden Girls marathon with him.

Roman looks a little shocked, but plows ahead nonetheless. “Look, Tyson, I’m flattered,” Tyson groans. He’s going to lose it if he has to hear that one more time, “But you know I’m straight, right? I have a girlfriend.”

Which is exactly what Gabe said, and Tyson didn’t see that coming. “I wrote this a long time ago.” Tyson says, which seems to be the party line at this point. “I’m over it all. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for giving it back, I guess.” Before Roman can say anything else, Tyson pushes past him and climbs into his car. This is the longest roadie of his life.

//

They lose in Nashville, and Gabe doesn’t say anything else about the letters. Tyson thinks the matter is settled, and he’ll be allowed to live down this humiliation in peace. What he doesn’t plan on is Gabe tracking him on the team plane, finally on its way back to Denver, strategically waiting for Nate to go to the bathroom before swooping.

“So, here’s the thing,” Gabe says, dropping down into the now empty seat. He pointedly does not offer it back when Tyson’s plane buddy returns, and Nate is forced to bypass them, with a withering glance at the seat now occupied by his captain, and claim the empty seat next to EJ, abandoning Tyson to Gabe’s schemes. “Nine thinks we’re dating. And he hates it.” Gabe puts on his best Duchene impression, which, in Tyson’s humble opinion, is just on the wrong side of terrible. “it’s a bad idea, blah blah blah, it’ll ruin team chemistry, blah blah blah.”

Tyson snorts at that. Dutchy’s one to be talking about ruining team chemistry.

For his part, Gabe ignores this interruption, and continues. “What I propose, is that we let him keep thinking that.”

Tyson throws a glance over his shoulder. Dutchy is asleep at the back of the plane, Nate has his headphones on and a distinctly grumpy expression on his face, and EJ seems to be completely engrossed in whatever the latest horse game he’s downloaded to his phone is. Tyson’s been thinking about introducing him to Pokemon Go. He turns back to Gabe. “You want to pretend to be my boyfriend to piss off Duchene? Is that what you’re saying? Is that what you’re telling me here?”

Gabe just nods, like this is the most typical request in the world. It’s a little petty and a lot dramatic. Tyson doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Still, he considers it for a moment. Pissing off Dutchy isn’t entirely unappealing, and, well—They’re playing Dallas again next week, and Tyson hasn’t heard from Jamie since his weird outburst in their barn, but he can see how this could help him avoid yet another severely uncomfortable conversation. The last thing he needs is for the Stars’ captain to think he’s like, in love with him or something (even if he might be, a little bit). So, Tyson says, fully aware that he’s likely going to regret this decision. “Fine, under one condition.”

Gabe nods eagerly – way too excited for what is essentially a prank on Dutchy, in Tyson’s opinion, and says, “Yeah, of course, anything.”

“We need a plan.” Tyson says. “A contract. And we never tell anyone about this, ever.”

“Deal.” Gabe says, extending a hand. Tyson rolls his eyes, but shakes it. Gabe takes the opportunity to use his grip on Tyson’s hand to pull him into a kiss, which would be perfectly normal behaviour if they were dating for real, but takes Tyson off guard.

“Deal.” Tyson repeats shakily, disentangling himself from Gabe and using slightly trembling fingers to drag his sleep mask down over his eyes, “Leave now. Give the Dogg his seat back before he gets that dumb grumpy look on his face.”

The exchange is made, and Tyson drifts off to the dulcet tones of Nate bitching about seat thieves.

//

The day after the agreement is made, Gabe shows up at Tyson’s house with a notebook and a pen. Tyson opens the door, and Gabe doesn’t wait for an invitation before barging in. “Sure, just come right on in.” Tyson says, sarcastic.

Gabe drops his notebook and pen on Tyson’s table and immediately begins raiding Tyson’s fridge. “It’s rude not to offer your guests a beverage, you know.”

“You’re not my guest. I didn’t invite you.” Tyson points out.

“You said you wanted a contract. I’m here to work out a contract.”

Oh. Right. The dating thing. Tyson does want a contract. He wants rules so this thing doesn’t go completely off the rails. Still, he distinctly did not invite Gabe over to work all of that out _now_. He pointedly doesn’t offer Gabe anything. He clearly has that handled himself, anyway. Instead, Tyson sits down at his table and opens Gabe’s notebook to the first blank page. “Fine, let’s work out a contract.”

Gabe joins him after a moment, having pilfered one of the beers in Tyson’s fridge, and picks up the pen, sitting close enough to Tyson that they might as well be sharing the same seat. Tyson thinks it’s all a bit unnecessary, frankly. He shifts to the side, a little. “You know Duchene can’t see us right now, right? You can cool it a little.”

Gabe, who’s never cooled it in the entire time that Tyson has known him, smirks at him and turns his attention to his notebook. “Do you want that in the contract?”

They’ve barely started, and Tyson already kind of wants to strangle him. A ‘Gabe has to cool it occasionally’ clause in the contract would perhaps be helpful to Tyson, personally, but he’s not sure if that’s something Gabe’s actually capable of, and the contract isn’t going to hold any water if Gabe’s violating it before either of them have even signed it, so Tyson shakes his head. “No, let’s try to keep this in the realm of what’s realistic.”

Gabe makes a face. “You’ve got no faith in me. I could cool it if I wanted to. I’ll show you, I’ll be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

“You’ll be the only fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

“I’m honoured.” Gabe pulls the notebook closer to him. “So, how are we doing this? Do you want pet names? Dinner dates? Kissing? Holding hands and walking down the street really slowly so we hold up foot traffic?” Gabe pauses, rests his face in his hand, thoughtful. “Maybe we should move in together.”

Tyson, for his part, is a little scandalized. “We are _not_ moving in together! We’re taking it slow.” He snatches the pen out of Gabe’s hand and writes _taking it slow_ , underlines it twice for good measure. “Dinner dates seem unnecessary, unless you’re planning on inviting Dutchy. Which, if you are, I’m not going. As for pet names—I like Landesnerd. You may call me TBeauty.” He writes, on the following line, _Landesnerd and TBeauty_.

Gabe grins at him. “Kissing?”

He looks like he might try it again, just to prove that he will, so Tyson shoves the tip of the pen between his lips and taps it against his teeth as he thinks. Because Gabe’s waiting, and because he’s staring at Tyson while he does it, Tyson slowly extracts the pen and says, “You can kiss me.” Mostly because he knows it’s going to be weird if they’re pretending to be dating and they’ve only ever kissed twice, but also because it’ll make Duchene uncomfortable and that’s at least half of the purpose of this exercise anyway. “But you have to warn me first. Give me a head’s up, y’know?”

It’s evident on Gabe’s face that he thinks this particular line in the sand is a little ridiculous, but he doesn’t argue the matter, letting Tyson scribble that down before continuing. “Anything else?”

“One more thing.” Tyson says, because he knows himself and he’d like to limit the amount of damage control he has to do. “We can’t tell anybody about this. Ever.”

“Obviously.”

“Except for Nate.”

Gabe is demonstrably speechless. He just kind of—Stares at Tyson, and Tyson knows he’s looking for an explanation, but he’s not getting one. “I’m not lying to him. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.” Gabe says, “You can tell Nate.” Tyson grins, satisfied, and scribbles down, _the dogg clause_ , “But you have to come with me to meet my boys and my family when we play in Stockholm.”

Tyson’s not sure what any of that has to with Dutchy, but he also knows he’s not going to be able to go through with this without spilling his guts to Nate, which seems to be the trade-off here. He’s not sure it’ll last longer than a week anyway, so he shrugs and says, “A little weird, but I’ll do it, if we’re still doing this thing.” He scrawls down _the ikea clause_ , just to be a dick.

“Okay, so,” Gabe starts, “Taking it slow, pet names, you want me to submit a formal request in writing before I kiss you, the dogg clause, the—” He pauses, and gives Tyson a withering look before continuing, “Ikea clause. Is there anything else?”

“Actually, I have a question.” Tyson says, because he hadn’t had the forethought to ask the most obvious question here when Gabe proposed this initially. “How—Why does Dutchy think we’re dating, anyway?”

Gabe takes this opportunity to roll his eyes, which Tyson thinks is a little rude. It’s a fair question, he thinks. “Sometimes, Tys,” Gabe starts, “When you do things in public corridors, people see. And then they assume certain things based off what they have seen.”

Which, yeah, had kind of been the point. It just didn’t occur to Tyson that somebody other than Jamie might have seen him impulse-kissing Gabe in the American Airlines Center.  In hindsight, it’s kind of obvious. “Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_. Have some spatial awareness, Four.” With that, Gabe swipes the pen out of Tyson’s hand and scribbles his signature before handing it back over.

“Can I have my agent look over it first?” Tyson asks. Off Gabe’s annoyed look (which – if anyone has the right to be annoyed here, Tyson thinks it’s him), he rolls his eyes and takes the pen out of Gabe’s hand. “Fine. But I’m keeping the pen.”

He signs, quick and messy enough that it can barely be recognized as his own signature. Gabe grins, and Tyson wonders how quickly he’s going to regret this decision.

//

“So.” Nate says, sprawling out on Tyson’s bed the morning before they play St. Louis, hands behind his head, “You and Gabe, huh?”

Tyson knows this shouldn’t come as a surprise. Rookies aren’t good at keeping secrets, gossip spreads. Not usually this quickly, but that tracks with Tyson’s luck. And the amount of rookies and pseudo-rookies they have this season. “No. And take your shoes off.”

Nate doesn’t, but looks expectantly at Tyson, like he’s supposed to _explain_ something. He probably should.

“What do you mean no? That’s not what the rookies said.”

Tyson makes a face. Nate should really consider the reliability of his source. “Do you believe everything rookies tell you?”

“Only my rookies.” Nate frowns, tilts his head in a move that Tyson thinks makes him resemble a golden retriever somewhat. “You’re not dating Gabe.”

“No.” Tyson says. “Yes. Kind of? It’s complicated. If Dutchy asks, it’s a yes.”

“None of what you just said makes any sense.”

That’s fair, so Tyson launches into the entire story of how his letters got out and he’s completely mortified and kissing Gabe in a corridor in Dallas seemed like the only solution, only Duchene saw and now he thinks they’re dating and continuing to let him think that is Gabe’s idea of a genius prank that he apparently intends on carrying on with until Dutchy gets traded, which could be tomorrow, or months away.

Tyson’s not looking forward to it ending, necessarily, but he knows this has the chance to end in humiliation for everyone involved, and he has a feeling it would be worse for him than it would be for Gabe.

Nate’s face indicates a pretty severe level of confusion, and Tyson’s not sure if he should be glad he had the forethought to put a Dogg clause into the contract or not. After what seems like hours of contemplation, but was likely only a few seconds, all Nate says is, “It didn’t seem fake.”

Tyson presumes he’s referring to Gabe planting one on him on the plane, right before giving him his seat back, which is fair, because that was very much real in the sense that Tyson had no idea what Gabe was planning in that moment and Gabe had demonstrated himself as something of a method actor in that his tongue was not entirely absent from the action as one would typically expect of a staged (read: not real, actually) kiss, but Tyson’s come to the conclusion that trying to predict what Gabe is going to do next with any reliability is about on the same level as estimating the result of a suspension: not likely to happen with accuracy any time soon.

“It’s fake.” Tyson assures him. “Just don’t _tell_ anyone. Including the rookies.”

Nate raises a hand. “Scout’s honour.”

The revelation that Nate was a boy scout is not new information. He’s the perfect candidate for the boy scouts. He kind of still is a boy scout. Most importantly, Tyson trusts him. He ruffles Nate’s hair with gratitude and says, “You’re a real bro, Dogg.”

//

St. Louis edges them out at home, and they hit the bar afterwards. Which, on the back of a three-game losing streak takes the form of what Tyson thinks distinctly resembles a wake, the dearly departed being their hopes and dreams. The mood is sombre. Everyone is drinking more or less heavily, including Tyson Jr, who has found an effective work around on the US drinking age (stealing JT’s drinks). Fortunately for Tyson, he’s managed to avoid the lesser Schenn, and in doing so, managed to avoid yet another extremely uncomfortable conversation in which a guy he is ostensibly friends with attempts to spare his feelings by letting him down gently. Three is the limit of unsolicited rejections Tyson’s fragile ego and take in one month, thanks.

It becomes evident that Gabe decides he wants something, he really commits. He’s laying it on a little thick, in Tyson’s opinion. He’s had an arm draped over Tyson’s shoulders since he sat down. He keeps leaning in Tyson’s space, whispering things Tyson doesn’t understand in his ear, and Tyson kind of wishes he had insisted on a ‘cool it’ clause in their contract. He smells distinctly of the same shitty beer Tyson keeps in his fridge for Nate purposes only, and his accent seems to get progressively more Swedish the more he drinks. Tyson doesn’t mind it as much as he perhaps should.

In all fairness to Gabe, Dutchy is staring at them from the other side of the bar – though glaring may be a more appropriate term – so this does all fall under fake relationship jurisdiction. Gabe’s definitely a method actor, is the thing, so when he makes direct eye contact with Dutchy and leans even closer to whisper what Tyson is pretty sure is just the names of things they sell at Ikea, his lips do make contact with Tyson’s skin, which is definitely a violation of their contract, incidental or not, and it makes Tyson shiver a little, but Dutchy tracks that and the disapproving look on his face that follows is a lot more satisfying than Tyson had anticipated. He’s midway through giggling at the next nonsensical thing Gabe whispers in his hear when he feels someone grab his hand and pull him up from his seat.

“Come dance with me,” a familiar voice says, and Eminem isn’t necessarily Tyson’s thing (or the kind of music that can be danced to, in his opinion) but it’s Nate, so Tyson goes.

Nate can’t dance, but neither can Tyson, which means that they’re at least on a level playing field.

“Fake, huh?” Nate asks, pulling Tyson to a section of the dancefloor that is unoccupied. “You’re not that good an actor, Tys. Neither is Gabe, for that matter.” He glances over at where Tyson was sitting, and Tyson follows his gaze. Gabe appears to have entire abandoned his targeted antagonizing of Dutchy and is instead looking at something on a phone screen with EJ. Something involving horses, for Tyson’s money.

Tyson makes a face. “Sorry we don’t all have our own Netflix show.”

“I’m just worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Tyson reaches out to put his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “I appreciate it, but I’m fine.” Maybe if he’d tried this way back when he’d written the letter that had triggered all of this, things would be different, but it was forever ago. He’s gotten a handle on his Gabe-related feelings since then. At least this way, he can counteract some of the humiliation inherent with people reading things they were never supposed to read. Antagonising Dutchy is just a bonus.

Nate bites his lip, shuffles slightly in a way that Tyson suspects is supposed to be dancing, but can’t say for certain. “If you’re sure.” He says, so quiet that Tyson almost misses it under the bass.

//

They get absolutely decimated in Vegas, in a 7-0 shutout against an expansion team already on their third goalie in October. They can’t get out of T-Mobile fast enough. Grumpy Nate is out in full force, Gabe is a lot quieter than anyone is accustomed to and Tyson kind of has a headache. A few of the boys decide to hit the strip. Tyson isn’t the mood, and follows Nate back to their room instead.

He’s expecting some self-pity. Maybe they’ll watch an episode of Golden Girls on Hulu or something. Instead, Nate takes a forty five minute shower before turning off all the lights and going to sleep. Which, Tyson doesn’t necessarily blame him but—Come on. He tries poking at Nate’s shoulder a couple of times. Nate doesn’t react more than a groaning sound and pulling the blankets over his head to dull the sensation of Tyson poking at him. Tyson gives up not long after that and leaves the room.

He ends up at Gabe’s hotel room, knocks on the door twice. He’s not sure if he’s even expecting a response. It’s entirely possible that Gabe’s pulling a Nate, but Gabe answers the door, in sweats, looking kind of exhausted. Tension fades from his shoulder as he recognizes who it is knocking on his hotel room. “Tys.”

His voice is quiet and rough and Tyson thinks of a million different things he could say, like that it was just one game or that Gabe takes on too much responsibility, even for a captain, or that Groundhog Day is just a movie and the season’s barely started. He could say any of that, and it would be unmistakably true, but it wouldn’t make Gabe feel better.

Tyson lets himself in, and he barely gets the door shut behind him before he’s faced with Gabe’s bed, covered with an obscene amount of what he can only assume are pity skittles. Which—not a bad idea, actually. “Throwing a party, bud?”

Gabe gets this deer in headlights look on his face, like he wasn’t expecting anyone to catch him hoarding mass amounts of vending machine travel pack skittles. “I—wasn’t expecting company.”

“No EJ?”

Gabe shakes his head. “He went out with the guys.”

There’ll be someone to take care of the rookies, then. Which, in Las Vegas, is probably a good idea. Tyson shrugs, moves a few packs of skittles out of the way, and settles down on Gabe’s bed. “So, you decided to have a skittle party without me? That hurts.”

Gabe manages a smile that comes off as more like a grimace and sits down next to Tyson. “This can’t keep happening. Not again.”

“It won’t.” Tyson shakes his head. He thinks of Dutchy asking for a trade, changing in the player’s lounge. He thinks of trade rumours flying. Him, Gabe, even Nate. He thinks of the Pepsi Center, of the distinct absence of burgundy and blue in the stands. “We won’t let it.”

Gabe nods, but he still looks tired. Sad. A little scared, and that’s not why Tyson’s here, so he picks up a travel back of skittles, tears it open, and begins launching them at Gabe. Gabe looks surprised and confused (which is fair, Tyson’s not sure why this was his solution to their problems), but catches up fast, grabbing a pack of skittles and launching them at Tyson one by one.

Tyson retaliates by getting even closer and throwing skittles directly into Gabe’s stupidly perfect hair, moves to sit on top of him because a still target is easier to hit than a moving target. He’s out of skittles, and is contemplating picking some up off the floor to renew his assault when he realizes that 1) he’s straddling Gabe on his hotel bed, this is what straddling is and 2) Gabe has given up even the illusion of trying to get out from under him. His hands are on Tyson’s thighs and he’s holding him there, looking up at him with his lips slightly parted, and Tyson has no idea what either of them would have done if the door hadn’t opened at that exact moment.

Tyson leaps off Gabe, processing only once he’s already done it that it makes no sense, because they’re supposed to be dating and straddling Gabe on his hotel bed is definitely boyfriend-like behaviour.

For his part, EJ shuts the door behind him, and takes a glance around the now skittle filled room, seems to take some comfort in the knowledge that his bed is skittle free, takes out his teeth and goes to bed without a word. Tyson takes that as his cue to leave.

//

They touch down in New York after hard-fought shootout win in Philadelphia. By the time Tyson makes it to his hotel room, he’s already exhausted. Back-to-backs are not his friend. He definitely does not have time for the disapproving look Dutchy gives him or the muttered insult about professionalism that he delivers before Tyson gets his room door open.

Tyson is expecting a large blonde man in his room when he settles down on his bed, because half of his team in comprised of large blonde men. That’s just odds. However, he realizes as he drops his things on the floor, this is the wrong large blonde man. “Where’s Nate?” Tyson asks, “Am I in the wrong room? That’s a rookie mistake, but he wouldn’t be surprised if his exhaustion baited him into it.

Gabe shakes his head. “Nope,” He says, popping the p in a way that makes Tyson want to sleep for a week. “I’m your roommate tonight. I made Nate switch with me. Did it in front of Dutchy, too. He was pissed. Apparently fucking on the road is _unprofessional_. What does he think hotel rooms are for, anyway?”

Which—Tyson kind of has something he was hoping to talk to Nate about, but the prospect of finding the room Nate’s in, prying him away from EJ and then finding somewhere they can actually _talk_ without someone overhearing is way too much for Tyson’s exhaustion addled brain right now. That, and there’s a good chance Dutchy is still outside in the hall and Tyson also doesn’t particularly want to deal with a speech about professionalism from Duchene, of all people.  

“So, you want the consequences of having sex without having any actual sex? You’re a weird one, Landesnerd.”

Gabe shrugs, says, “I mean, we could, if we really wanted to sell it.”

The crazy thing is, Tyson can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, but even if he wasn’t, and Tyson wasn’t bone tired, there’s nothing on the planet earth that could convince him to have sex with someone while Duchene was in earshot. Not even the idea of having sex with someone who looks like Gabe can sexify that scenario.  

“Your method acting has to have some boundaries,” Tyson says, stripping off his jeans in favour of sweatpants and climbing into bed. “But feel free to make sex noises while Dutchy’s still out there.” Gabe seems to seriously consider it, and even opens his mouth.

Tyson groans and tosses a pillow at Gabe’s head, missing the mark by far too much for a professional athlete with a sizable target. “That was a joke. I was joking. If you start making sex noises, I’m making EJ trade with me. I’m exhausted.”

“You’re no fun.”

Tyson responds by flipping the light switch and letting his head drop onto his remaining pillow with a pointed, “Good _night_ , Gabe.”

//

Dutchy gets taken off the bench two minutes into a game against the Islanders, and Tyson knows what that means. It wasn’t a question of _if_ he’d get traded as much as it was _when_. He wanted out of there, he was barely a part of the team anymore, and Tyson could feel what that was doing to the locker room (metaphorically speaking, now that Duchene didn’t actually use it). Still, it comes as a shock when the trade happens in the midst of a game.

By the time they’ve lost to the Isles, Dutchy is gone.

Tyson’s lucky, he supposes. He manages to sneak back to his hotel unaccosted by any media. They’re going to see Dutchy again, Tyson knows. This isn’t a ‘disappear into the ether’ type situation (or a disappear into Ottawa type situation, but Tyson’s not sure if there’s really a functional difference there). They’re playing Ottawa soon, in Sweden, which—what are the chances? Overall, it’s a good result. Dutchy didn’t want to be in Colorado anymore, and everyone else did. Tyson’s just—In shock, he thinks. Which is probably why he finds himself pacing, a little bit, with more pent-up energy than he knows what to do with, or can justify, given that he’s just played twenty five minutes worth of shifts in a hockey game where his teammate was traded.

It takes Gabe longer to get back to the hotel, unsurprisingly.

“I think we should break up.” Tyson says, forcing the words out in a rush before Gabe can even close the door behind him.

“Uh,” Gabe starts, closing the door behind him, “Right this second? Why?”

“My humiliation seems to have blown over and Dutchy’s gone now, so there’s not any point in pretending we’re together any longer.” That, and Nate was kind of right and Tyson hasn’t had a chance to talk to him about it yet and he’s not sure that he will at all but he knows he should pull the plug on this thing regardless of whether he actually wants to or not and just—slow things down.

“Dutchy’s not—” Gabe cuts himself off. “Dutchy’s not _gone_ . He’s in Ottawa. Or on his way to Ottawa. We’ll see him in Sweden next week.” He shakes his head. “C’mon Tys, you can’t break up with me _now_ , right before the Global Series. It’s in the contract!”

Which is the issue. It is in the contract. Tyson agreed to go to Stockholm with Gabe and pretend to be his boyfriend in front of his friends and family in exchange for an addendum to the ‘no telling anyone ever’ clause that had definitely been his idea which would enable him to spill his guts to Nate when he felt the urge. It had made sense at the time. Now, it seems kind of insane. The contract itself isn’t legally binding, but violating it still goes against Tyson’s principles. He deflates a little. “Fine.” He says. “I’ll go with you to meet whoever you want to meet and pretend to be your boyfriend in front of Dutchy and his new team, but then—We’re done with this. We can’t keep doing this forever. We need to go back to normal.” Tyson pauses. “And I want my Dogg back.”

Gabe nods his acquiescence, but sits down, looks over at Tyson and says, “You really can’t think of any reason to keep doing this?”

Tyson sits down on his bed and shrugs. He kind of wishes he could just disappear into the wallpaper. “Things have to go back to normal eventually, right?”

//

Stockholm is amazing, and everything, but it also kind of sucks in that Dutchy’s new team sweeps them in a two-game series and they only eke a single point out of the Global Series which means that both Nate and Gabe seem kind of stressed and upset, which is not and has never been good for Tyson’s piece of mind. The last thing they need is another losing streak.

Tyson really wanted to win, is the thing. Because being on the upswing after the trade drama would have made Nate happy, and winning here, in his home town, would have made Gabe happy, only that didn’t happen, so instead they’re both on edge, and Tyson’s already on edge anyway, and he’s going to need at least a week to recover from the last month.

Being introduced to Gabe’s friends and family is excruciating for two main reasons. First of all, Gabe still seems to be rocking the method acting strategy, which generally just seems to involve invading Tyson’s space a lot, which really only serves to exacerbate the whole Gabe _thing_ Tyson has going on right now. Secondly, they’re all huge and blonde and beautiful and Swedish and Tyson is so very out of his element.

It’s Gabe’s sister who asks the question Tyson is expecting, the, “How long have you two been together?” It’s soft, almost knowing, asked over the rim of a glass.

Tyson defers to Gabe, because he doesn’t actually know how much information of their fake relationship Gabe has shared with his family. He’s not even sure why he’s here in the first place, why Gabe has insisted on this, why he wants Tyson to meet his friends and family in Stockholm so bad when they’re just going to ‘break up’ when they’re back in Colorado.

“Officially, it hasn’t even been a month.” Gabe says, and his voice takes on this embarrassed yet fond quality. Tyson commends him for his acting skill, even if it seems like he’s had a lot of practice since they started up this thing. “Although I think it started developing a long time ago.” He puts his hand on Tyson’s thigh, rubbing his fingers against Tyson’s knee, and Tyson tries and ultimately fails to keep his heart beating at a normal rate. “At least it did for me. I never did anything about it, though.” Tyson’s frankly alarmed by how easily this seems to come to Gabe, like he’s on camera reciting lines or on a stage performing a Shakespearean play. “But then he wrote me this beautiful letter. I don’t think I was even supposed to see it, but I knew I had to say something.”

And that’s—Well, that’s half true. Gabe was never supposed to see that letter. Beautiful isn’t the word he might use, however. It was half insults. Still, it’s enough that Tyson nods, and blushes. He puts his hand over Gabe’s, on top of the table and says, with nowhere near the level of acting prowess that Gabe has managed to achieve, “Some things are meant to be.”

//

Tyson throws himself down on the bed next to Nate’s and buries his face in his pillow, prompting Nate to lean over and tap him somewhat politely on the shoulder. “Tys?”

Tyson peeks out from beneath his arm and sees Nate’s face, looking somewhat concerned. “You were right.” He groans, hiding his face again. Muffled, he adds, “You were right, and I am an idiot.”

Nate, who has developed the sixth sense of being able to translate Tyson’s nonsense without even trying, asks, “Is this about the Gabe thing again? The fake boyfriend thing? Which I still think is slightly insane, by the way.”

“Yes.” Tyson pulls himself up so he’s sitting upright on his bed, leaning against the headboard. “Yes, it’s the Gabe thing, the fake boyfriend thing, the my terrible decision making thing.” Tyson sighs. “I have feelings for him, is the problem. I don’t think I did when this thing started. Or, I did, but I was over it.” Which is the point of the letters, and usually works for Tyson, but apparently not when he has to spend and exorbitant amount of time pretending to be in a relationship with the person he had a crush on (or has, present tense, possibly. Tyson’s not sure what he’s even supposed to call it anymore). “But it came _back_ , and obviously he doesn’t feel the same way, and this whole thing is just a huge mess that I should never have agreed to in the first place.”

“You’re an idiot, Tyson.” Nate says. “Like, legitimately the dumbest person I’ve ever met. And I play _hockey_.”

“Hey!” Tyson protests, offended. That can’t be true. He’s got to be smarter than Drouin, at the very least.

Nate, however, is nowhere near done. “Do you really think Gabe gives a shit what Dutchy thinks? Do you think he gives enough of a shit what Dutchy thinks to keep pulling this fake-dating bullshit with you after he left the team? For that matter, do you think Dutchy is playing close enough attention to your relationship to make the continuation of this façade here, in Sweden, necessary? It’s pretty damn obvious how Gabe feels about you, which leads me to conclude that you have either had your head up your ass for an extended period of time, or that you’re a complete moron.”

Tyson needs some time, in the immediate aftermath of Nate’s outburst, the process everything he just said. “That was so mean.” It also makes a certain amount of sense, but just—Super mean. Tyson thinks back to dinner, to Gabe’s hand on his knee and the kernels of truth in his getting together story. He thinks of Gabe’s hesitance to end their fake relationship after the trade. He thinks of Gabe’s hands on his thighs in a hotel room in Vegas and—

“God damn it.” Tyson mutters. “You might be right. Again.”

Nate stretches out on his bed and Tyson gets a very strong ‘my work here is done’ vibe from him. “When are you going to learn?” He asks, “That I’m always right?”

Tyson throws a pillow at him, for good measure.

//

Doing things in theory is a lot easier than doing them in practice, is the thing. In theory, confronting Gabe and admitting to having feelings for him is a fairly simple task. In practice, Tyson feels himself freeze up. Every time he tries, he chickens out. This is not helped by the fact that his relationship with Gabe hasn’t, as he had initially hoped, gone back to normal after the end of their fake relationship. Gabe’s acting weird, all businesslike and professional. He even called him Mr. Barrie once, and Tyson’s still not clear on whether he was being made fun of or not. Which usually means he is actively being made fun of. He prefers when Gabe is direct about it. Jabs at his Dairy Queen addiction are a lot easier to handle than weird formal honorifics.

Tyson isn’t avoiding him, necessarily. Possibly because it’s impossible for him to do that, but it’s uncomfortable, tense. Tyson hates it. He doesn’t want to be their new problem in the locker room.

It takes two and a half weeks and more false starts than Tyson cares to count for Tyson to actually do anything about it. He tries, he really does. He just happens to chicken out at the last minute, effectively wasting all of Nate’s good advice, but what else is new? He doesn’t like conflict, is the thing. Which is unfortunate, because he knows he needs to fix things with Gabe. He tries writing another letter, but can’t get the words right. That, and letters are the reason he has this problem in the first place, so—monumentally bad idea, actually.

Tyson elects to miss optional skate. Or attempts to. He gets halfway through a pity party that involves watching a few episodes of Golden Girls by himself, because Nate’s never missed an optional skate in his life, before the guilt catches up with him, and he’s in his car on his way to the rink.

He gets there too late, is the problem. Everyone’s gone. The rookies are gone, even Nate’s gone. The only person left is Gabe, skating and practicing shooting drills by himself and it makes something in Tyson’s chest tighten. He thinks about turning around and going home. He’s obviously missed optional skate, Gabe’s overachieving notwithstanding. But, well—They can’t keep going like this, or Tyson’s going to end up getting traded or something even worse, and he’s not about to be the next Dutchy.

So, he takes a deep breath, steps out onto the ice, and promptly realizes he’s not wearing skates. Again, Tyson considers turning around – to get his skates, if nothing else. But Gabe calls out his name, and it’s too late. So, he keeps walking, grateful when the severe slippage problem he’s experiencing doesn’t worsen to the point. Through some miracle, he makes it to where Gabe is standing, in front of the net.

Gabe reaches a hand out to steady him. “What are you doing here? Skate’s over.”

Tyson holds onto Gabe’s arm, for the sake of his balance. “I realize that now.” There’s late, and then there’s missing the event entirely. “I think we should talk.”

“Okay,” Gabe says, almost absently kicking a puck into the net with the blade of his skate. “Talk.”

Tyson didn’t plan this part out, in the extreme, so he just blurts out, “The thing is, I like you. Kind of a lot. And I didn’t realize that until we were in the middle of this thing, and it kind of freaked me out, to be honest.”

Gabe, evidently, was not expecting that. He sighs, “I wanted you to meet my family because I’m in love with you, Tyson. Fucking with Dutchy was fun, but I don’t really give a shit what he thinks.”

And, well—“That’s what Nate said.”

Gabe laughs, free and open, the best sound Tyson’s heard in weeks, and says, in accordance with a contract that is no longer valid, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Tyson nods, enthusiastically, and Gabe kisses him, right there on the ice.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't find the right place to fit it in during the writing of this fic but it's important to me that you know josty sent the letters.


End file.
